


Have You Gorged Yourself, At Last, In Your Lust For Blood?

by cuddlesome



Category: Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, F/M, Human/Vampire Relationship, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Size Difference, Violent Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:55:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22898368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuddlesome/pseuds/cuddlesome
Summary: Vampire!Erik/Christine in the final lair. That is all.
Relationships: Christine Daaé/Erik | Phantom of the Opera
Comments: 17
Kudos: 58





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "Have you gorged yourself, at last, in your lust for blood? / Am I now to be prey to your lust for flesh?" is one of my absolute favorite parts in the musical, both the words themselves and the way they are delivered by Christine.
> 
> Also, this was written with Jonathan Roxmouth and Meghan Picerno in mind for Erik and Christine so if you're wondering why I keep waxing poetic about size difference that would be the reason.

Piangi’s blood sloshed and burbled in the belly of her captor. She could hear it over the rush of water beneath the opera house, could smell it on his person. She dared not look back to see the fresh stain on the collar of his shirt where some of his meal had slipped free from his malformed lips.

“You needn’t have driven me to this,” he said. “If you had just come with me this could have all been avoided.”

Back stiff, still facing straight ahead, she said, “Forgive me for being hesitant about offering myself up as your prey.”

“Hesitant?” The boat rocked as he knelt and wrapped one arm around her. “You should know better than to lie to me.”

He pushed aside her hair and licked a broad stripe across her jugular. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the mass of misshapen, torn skin on his face.

“You want this,” he said. “You want to slake your angel’s thirst with your delicious blood, no, your ichor…” 

For a moment both boat and lake settled into glassy stasis. Christine swallowed. She knew just what cruel words she had to say to get him to let her be, but they stuck like barbs in her throat.

“Christine…”

She forced them out, even if they tore: “Stay away from me, you hideous beast.”

He drew back at once, stung. 

Presently the boat arrived at his lair. He dragged her out of it by the wrist with his inhuman strength, no longer interested in the illusion of tenderness.

She heard him panting out of his mouth like an animal. Like the monster she knew him to be. Not from exhaustion but from the thrill of it all.

She clawed at his iron grip on her wrist. “You’re hurting me…”

“Beasts don’t give any consideration to the comfort of fair maidens.”

He deposited her on his throne. Then he hemmed her in by putting one knee beside her on the seat and looming over her. More than ever it seemed clear to her how large the man was, how small and vulnerable she was by comparison. One of his meaty thighs alone appeared thicker around than her corseted waist. He kept himself huge and healthy by guzzling the blood of the Opera Populaire’s staff and patrons, but no amount of blood could heal his deformity.

At this angle his crotch leveled with her face. She tried not to focus on it, but the only other thing in close proximity was his rumbling belly.

He slid himself further down, bowing his back so he could be closer.

“If I let you feed on me—“ she swallowed as he kissed her collarbone, her _décolletage_ “—will you leave everyone else at the opera alone?”

He met her gaze with his good eye while the other, milky-white, rolled to one side. “I’ll have no need of those fools with my Christine to provide for me.”

“Swear to me you won’t prey on anyone else.”

He took one of her hands from where it clenched loosely at her side and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “I swear.”

She pulled her hand free, cupped the back of his balding head, and guided his mouth to her neck. “Go on. Drink your fill.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the warm reception to the first chapter! Here, have another tidbit of final lair vampire drama.

The Phantom wanted absolute perfection when he finally dined on Christine’s blood. For countless nights he had resisted the urge to simply burst into her dressing room and guzzle it like so much cherry liqueur. He contented himself with draughts from the opera patrons and company to sustain him. She would be his when the time came.

Then Christine would do something foolish like slicing her hand open on a prop. He bit down on his own wrist to muffle his moans of want behind the mirror. She, ever the sweet, oblivious, stupid child, told her angel of the unfortunate accident. He extracted his saliva-sodden wrist just long enough to coo a comforting comment to her.

He didn’t want to frighten her with his appetite or his face, but her curiosity soiled that. She discovered both at once when she ripped his mask off and he, full of rage, snarled at her with no regard for how she would see his overly-sharp canines. 

No matter. As his wife, she would be forever supplying him with blood. He need not hunt like a beast every night.

And now, now, she offered it to him, just as he dreamed she would. Christine’s ballerina physique seemed frailer than ever by comparison beneath him on the throne, but still she urged him closer. He kissed and nibbled at her, still determined to tease himself with the prospect. 

To have Raoul de Chagny appear at the moment of his triumph would simply not do.

He detected the sound of the vicomte’s approach first, splashing and gasping, then smelled him amid the familiar stagnant water and Christine’s sweetness. His good eye rolled to the portcullis.

The Phantom snapped his teeth together just before Christine’s neck with a click. Growling between his tightly clenched jaws, he extricated himself from her, leaving her on the throne.

Christine shifted in the seat the moment he walked toward the portcullis, straining to see Raoul. Ever disobedient, ever the traitor! And yet he loved her all the same.

“Unpleasant but unsurprising to see you again, Monsieur,” the Phantom said with a mock bow.

Raoul spared him only a glare before turning his attention to Christine. He called out to her. A muscle in the Phantom’s jaw ticked when she responded in kind.

Then Raoul reached through the bars of the portcullis. The Phantom seized his wrist at once, intimately aware of the fragile bones just waiting to be crushed. Or, perhaps better yet…

With a twist, he turned Raoul’s wrist over, exposing the throbbing veins. Only then did the vicomte grace him with his attention.

“Unhand me and let Christine go, monster,” he declared.

The Phantom ignored him, calculating from years of practice which method to use to cause Raoul the most amount of pain for the longest period of time once he bit. His concentration broke when a small but determined hand grabbed his bicep. He half-turned to look at Christine.

“You promised,” she cried, then reached up to grab his arm with her other hand as if she could possibly drag him away. “You said you wouldn’t hurt anyone else.”

Erik hissed at her so violently that spittle flecked on her face, but she didn’t flinch.

“Yes, I did promise,” he said, “provided I get what I want.”

“You’ll get it. You will.” She swallowed. “Everything you want.”

“What are you talking about?’ Raoul cut in.

Without taking his eyes off of Christine, the Phantom replied, “We two have entered into a deal, the stipulations of which dear Christine is trying to use to protect you; to keep me from spilling your blue blood all over the floor.” 

He wouldn’t dream of dirtying his tongue with it.


End file.
